


Barrier To Entry

by maebyrutherford (maeberutherford)



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, First Meetings, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 14:10:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7895677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maeberutherford/pseuds/maebyrutherford
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chance meeting at a Kirkwall noble soiree.</p><p>Under different circumstances it could have been something. Maybe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Barrier To Entry

Freya was sure she had never seen a more awkward scene in her entire life. A ballroom filled to the brim with nobles wearing their finest on one side and templars in freshly-polished armor on the other, as though there was an invisible wall of flame running down the center of the room. Occasionally an enterprising noble or two would cross over to attempt conversation but for the most part there was very little intermingling.

The entire situation would be much more amusing if she hadn’t been forced to attend by her mother, who’d insisted on organizing this affair in an attempt to “get to know” the men and women who "protected" Kirkwall’s circle. Freya had rolled her eyes at the sight of her mother’s friends gushing over the “brilliance” of the idea as they sipped their afternoon tea in their study a few weeks ago.

Her gaze turned to Meredith who, judging by her scowl, clearly would have rather been anywhere else but here. But, as the Knight-Commander had evidently learned, you don’t say no to Mother. Not if you want the Kirkwall elite to keep coughing up donations.

She was bored to tears; even the music was dull. It was times like these when she missed Father the most. She hated all her mother’s friends and all her mother’s friend’s offspring. Sycophants and morons, the whole lot of them, coasting on their family names and money. And the poor templars obviously were uncomfortable. Freya wouldn’t dream of trying to drag them into conversation even though she was sure they’d be more interesting to talk to.

She ignored the surprised look on the servant’s face when she grabbed two glasses of wine from his tray and set to work polishing them off, weaving her way through the crowd to go stand in the opposite corner. It’s what she usually did at Mother’s insipid events, drift from one side of the room to the other and proceed to get drunk until it came to a blessed end, and tonight would be no different. Thankfully most of the nobles had learned to leave her alone.

She deposited the now empty wine glasses onto a nearby table and was looking for another servant when she noticed a group of women crossing the floor, tittering and whispering the whole way. It was Sheila, the superficially beautiful one and the apple of her father’s eye, and her less attractive yet equally vile sisters. Knowing that lot of airheads, they could only be after one thing - a man.

Freya followed their line of sight and sure enough, she saw him; a tall young templar with blonde curls. He stood erect by himself near a corner, clutching a wine glass but not drinking from it. She wondered why she hadn’t noticed him before since he was quite easy on the eyes. Perhaps he’d only just arrived.

“Wine please!” She waved frantically at a passing server who swerved over to hand her a glass. She leaned forward on the high-top table and watched as Sheila and her sisters descended upon the poor templar.

“Here we go,” Freya muttered to herself, watching as they made their introductions. Not wasting any time, Sheila moved into his personal space and was saying something undoubtedly forward to him, her sisters giggling all the while. He took a step backward, and then another, until his back hit the wall, and when Sheila whispered something into his ear he practically recoiled like a cornered animal.

Freya frowned; this wasn’t normally how men reacted to Sheila’s advances at all, even the shy ones. She could see the man turning red and the mild panic in his eyes from all the way across the room while he stammered and squirmed. Sheila’s sisters closed in around him, preventing any chance of escape. Something wasn’t right.

She abandoned her wine and moved swiftly across the room until she was right behind them.

“Sheila, darling!” she exclaimed loudly.

Sheila turned around and narrowed her eyes. “What do _you_ want? Can’t you see I’m busy?” The sisters stared daggers at Freya.

“Oh I’m terribly sorry for the interruption,” Freya cooed sweetly, “but I’m afraid it’s rather urgent. The healer is here with your test results - I know you wouldn’t want to wait a minute longer to hear the news.” She smiled at the agitated templar. “The poor dear has been so worried, I’m sure you understand.”

Sheila clenched her hands into fists, her beautiful face contorting in anger. “What in the Maker’s name are you on about?” She turned to the templar, trying to smile. “Don’t mind her. She’s stark raving mad, everyone knows it. It’s best to ignore her. Now where we?”

“But my dearest Sheila,” Freya cooed, “what if your condition has finally cleared up? Wouldn’t you want to know? Especially if you two are about to, ahem, get to know each other.” She winked at the templar, who was starting to visibly relax.

“This personal matter does seem quite urgent,” he said to Sheila, and Freya was struck by the dulcet tone of his voice. “Perhaps you should tend to it immediately. It was lovely meeting you.”

Sheila just looked between the templar and Freya, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly, until she let out an exasperated cry and stormed off, her minions shuffling close behind her.

Freya watched them go, proud of her handiwork, and turned to him. “Well, my work here is done. I’ll leave you be. Don’t fret, it’ll be over soon.”

“Wait, might I at least learn the name of my savior? ” He stepped toward her, away from the wall, and his color had returned to normal. She noticed his eyes, an unusual shade of golden brown, but rimmed by dark circles. The only imperfection on his handsome face as far as she could see.

“Please, don’t feel that you have to chat me up to be polite. I’m glad to help. Sheila is a loathsome predator that must be stopped at all costs.”

“Not just out of obligation, although I can’t thank you enough. I’d truly like to get to know you, at the very least your name. I generally don’t mind talking to people, just… not like that.” He scratched the back of his neck.

“Cornered with no chance of escape, you mean?”

His smirk was delightfully crooked. “Precisely. I’ve faced abominations that were less aggressive.”

Freya smiled, genuinely this time. “All right, I’m Freya Chambers. Yes, I’m Madeleine Chambers’ daughter, the mastermind behind this affair, and for what its worth, I’m sorry.”

He laughed and took her extended hand. “A pleasure, my lady. I’m Knight-Captain Cullen.”

“The pleasure is certainly all mine, Knight-Captain. See? I can be just as genteel as the rest of them when I want to be.” She signaled for more wine, and when the servant offered him the tray, he refused.

“I’ve barely touched my first glass," he said. "I still have paperwork to attend to after this.”

Freya clucked her tongue. “Working after a party? Blasphemy! That reminds me - if you all are here, then who’s watching the mages?”

He paused and widened his eyes. “Maker, I knew there was something we were forgetting!”

Freya’s smile fell.

“That was a jest.”

“Funny. A templar with a sense of humor.” She watched him over the lip of her wine glass.

“Some stayed behind at the circle. I volunteered but apparently my attendance here was mandatory.” He gestured across the room. “Is that your mother over there, talking to the Knight-Commander?”

“In the flesh,” Freya said drily. “She’ll probably want to meet you next. Be ready. She’s not like Sheila but she very well might bore you to death.”

He gave her a bemused look. “Is there anyone here you _do_ like?”

“No, although you’re starting to look promising.”

He chuckled softly, a sound she rather liked. “I shall take that as a compliment.”

 _Well well_ , she thought, _perhaps this ball isn’t so bad after all._

She looked around furtively, then leaned in. “Do you want to get out of here? I know a secret spot on the grounds, it’s quite nice. For a chat,” she added hurriedly.

He hesitated, and just when she was convinced he was going to deny her, he said, “Lead the way, my lady.”

***

“So you’re the youngest Knight-Captain ever?” Freya asked before finishing off her wine.

“Well, maybe not in the entire history of the Templars, but in Kirkwall, yes.” Cullen refilled her glass. She noticed that his was still almost full even after their lengthy conversation and wondered if he thought her to be a lush. She made a mental note to slow down.

“Still, that’s impressive. You should be very proud.” She looked up at the night sky, framed by the ivy-covered roof overhang on the small patio. A rectangle of stars embedded in an indigo sky twinkled down upon them. She had stretched the truth; this spot wasn’t exactly a secret to any of their regular guests, but thankfully they now had it to themselves.

“I am. It’s an honor I take very seriously. But still, there are times… no, I shouldn’t complain.”

Freya turned to face him fully in her seat. “No, please, do. I live for complaining! What is it? You can tell me, I won’t tell a soul.”

He shifted in his seat and glanced at her before looking at his glass. “It seems strange to confess this to a perfect stranger, but… there are templars with more experience than I and who are just as dedicated, if not more, yet she chose me. As honored as I am, I do sometimes wonder - why me?”

Freya shrugged. “Maybe she has a crush on you?”

To her surprise, Cullen barked a laugh. “That is certainly _not_ the reason. Trust me.”

She nodded in understanding. “Hear you loud and clear. Well, maybe she sees something in you that you don’t see. Not yet.”

He stroked his chin. “Hm. Perhaps. Still, there’s a small part of me that feels a bit at odds with it, that it came entirely too easily. And some of the templars share my reservations. I’m well aware of the gossip in the barracks.”

She scooted closer to him on the bench. There was something about him that made her want to take away all his burdens, even though she’d only known him for a few hours. “Well, fuck the gossip and the self-doubt. I say embrace it. Be proud of your achievement! Here’s to your promotion.” She held out her glass, and he met it with his.

“It’s hard to argue with that.” They both took a drink, and when their eyes met, neither of them looked away.

Freya took a deep breath and leaned in closer, hesitated, and then he leaned in as well. He was close now, she could feel his breath on her face, and she was overwhelmed with the desire to kiss him. She liked this man. She couldn’t remember the last time she had enjoyed anyone’s company so much in her miserable life, an existence filled with so much disdain and disillusion, the feeling made her positively giddy. So much so that she practically jumped into his arms and smashed her lips into his. Somewhere there was the sound of glass breaking.

For a few blissful moments they kissed passionately, the joining of two lonely souls desperate for a connection, needing this. Freya didn’t hold back, she climbed onto his lap and straddled him, still kissing him, running her hands through that lovely curly hair. He held onto her with impressive strength, gripping the small of her back and sliding his other hand up between her shoulders and the back of her neck, and Maker, his mouth was so soft and strong at the same time, his tongue assured and true, and they were utterly lost. His armor pressed painfully into the fleshy insides of her thighs, and she couldn’t have cared less.

Suddenly he gripped her by the shoulders and broke the kiss, panting, and his eyes were clamped shut.

“I can’t… I can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

She stroked his jaw, trying to soothe whatever was bothering him. “Don’t be silly, of course you can. My room is just upstairs, we can go up the back way.”

He shook his head.

Shit. She was being entirely too forward, behaving no better than Sheila. Freya panicked. “Or we can just cuddle, or talk, whatever you want. Just stay, please.”

Very gently, he lifted her from his lap and set her, dumbfounded, on the bench. Freya watched him in a daze as he stood. He was transformed - stiff, cold, distant.

“Forgive me. Thank you for a lovely evening. I should go. I… I only hope you won’t think ill of me.”

There were things she wanted to say but she was rendered speechless. It wasn’t until he opened the gate that she found her voice.

“Wait!” She ran to him, and he stopped without turning around.

“I don’t understand,” she babbled, “we talked for hours, we had such a good time - I don’t like anyone, but I like you, and I thought you liked me. Was it something I said? Something I did?” To her horror, she felt tears stinging her eyes. She blinked them away.

He didn’t look at her. “No. It’s not you. Just know that I am truly sorry.” He glanced at her. “Good night, Freya.”

And then he was gone.


End file.
